


the war is over(the lilies are blooming)

by nightstreak1239



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Character Death, Cysithea, F/M, Post-Timeskip, Romance, spoilers for Lysithea's background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 14:15:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21078155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightstreak1239/pseuds/nightstreak1239
Summary: The war is over. The lilies are blooming, but not for long.Self-indulgent Cysithea drabble I wrote on a whim and decided to share.





	the war is over(the lilies are blooming)

The war is over. 

No more fighting. No more bloodshed. Peace will rule the land once again, as it should be. The world and its people will need it to rebuild their lives - thrown into chaos by the war, only now given the chance to flourish again. They stand on the tide of history, knowing they have lent their hands in turning it to a brighter future. 

Not just for the world, but for themselves.

The war is over. The lilies are blooming. 

White, the color of innocence, of purity untainted and perfection incarnate. Ironic, that such a color is also the representative of the corruption that lurks beneath her skin like an insidious poison, that her beauty is marred by the thousands of silvery scars slashing across ivory skin as if she were a statue carved from the finest marble. 

He plucks one such lily from the ground amidst its comrades and offers it to her as a gift. Her smile lights up her face, and with it, his entire world. Flower is tucked carefully into hair, her every step light and carefree as a child's, even if just for those few precious moments. His hand is in hers, and hers in his, they are two lost souls conjoined as one. For five years they have waited, and now they will no longer be kept waiting - til death do them part.

The war is over. The lilies are stained crimson. 

The white silk handkerchief is drenched with bright scarlet, the colour of vibrant life, yet so violently expelled from a frail body that seems as though it will shake apart at any moment with every wracking cough. It stains her hands with guilt, a dye that will never fade no matter how hard she may scrub them. Guilt, for the genuine concern that flits across his face and ruins the sunshine beam she always looks forward to seeing, furrows the handsome brow with worry unsuited to such a young face. 

Protest as she likes, he always finds a way to make her feel at ease, whether be it a steaming cup of tea on her desk or a freshly baked cake, made just the way she likes it. At night she pores over her books by candlelight, working even into the wee hours of the morning, yet when she slips into bed he is always awake and waiting for her, just for the chance to kiss her goodnight. Once, she'd insisted he go to bed first, but she's come to realise that her best sleep is in his arms. 

The war is over. The lilies are dying. 

So too is her body failing, broken by the weight of two Crests, a burden normally impossible for any human to bear. He knows it, she can feel the sorrow that lingers like a shroud in his wake, clouds his eyes with despair and dogs his every step like a faithful shadow. 

She cannot hide it any longer, the way her hands shake at the slightest of exertions, or how every agonizing wheeze brings the taste of iron to her lips. Nowadays she is confined to her bed, too weak to even summon the strength to get up. The formidable mage who once tore enemies asunder is gone, in its place lies a tiny girl with eyes too solemn and far too old for her true age. He loves her all the more for it, sitting vigil at her bedside day and night, attending to her every need and whim. Fate is cruel, but he has chosen this path for as long as he can remember, even if he hadn't been aware of it back then. His path lies alongside hers, and it is his to walk till the very end.

The war is over. The lilies are blooming.   
But his lily has withered, never to see the sunrise again. 

Amidst the patch of purest white, a single spider lily stands tall.


End file.
